Solo IC Thread- Let the 20's Roar- LuckyStrike

[pife]

Having eons to consider ones actions is dangerous. Would you have changed any of your actions if you had known the outcome ahead of time? Would you still have followed Lucifer into rebellion? What was the point? It's so hard to remember now. So hard.

You had long since given up any realistic hope of being released from your prison. An oubliette, a place to be forgotten, that's where you have spent most of eternity. Some have handled it better than others. Madness was the only recourse remaining to many of the fallen. No contact with, and only the barest understanding of, the world that you had helped to construct, looked after. The Humans, those poor ignorant Humans, had been left to their own devices, and they had made a horrendous mess of the perfection that they had inherited. Why had God forgiven them, but saw fit to punish you for all time? Were you not trying to fulfill His wishes, his instructions? No matter. You had long since decided that it was all irrelevant anyway. You were stuck, with the rest of your kind, and stuck you would stay. Forever.

Then again, perhaps not. On five other occasions, great "storms" rocked the very walls of your prison, threatening to pierce the membrane of your suffering. But nothing had happened. Great excitement had built up among your fellows on each occasion, but they had merely allowed themselves to hope again. What good is hope? Hope without means is the most useless of emotions, wasn't it? A lie, told to assuage ones own feelings of iniquity, pain, or fear. Some had held onto it even to this day. For yourself, you had run completely out of it.

It was difficult to become surprised when nothing ever changed. You can't recall the last time you were truly "surprised" at something that occurred around you, because everything that happened (and there wasn't much) was entirely predictable, and painfully immaterial. Which is why the shock was that much greater when, with a flash of dimmed white light, as from lightning hidden by a distant bank of clouds, you felt yourself moving. You had the sensation of great speed, but there was no wind, no feeling of falling. This.. this was different! You came up against solidity, though there was nothing there to perceive, just a wall of.. nothing. Pressure. Immense pressure pushed you against this solidness, until you thought that you must be getting crushed into oblivion. Was this, then, Gods final punishment? Effective, but not very creative, you remember thinking in the midst of feelings of pain and panic. Then, with a sound like wet cloth ripping, you were past it, and soaring once more, this time amid a forest of.. were these souls? Appendages reached out at you, clawed at you, tried to grasp and hold you, tried to prevent you from moving on, but helplessly, borne by a force that you could neither sense or deny, you were whisked along, to.. where? Easily, this was the most interesting thing that had happened to you in the last.. who knows how long. Time had lost it's meaning long ago. Then, darkness.

But you still had feeling. There was an itching in your head, in two separate places, and you felt.. strange. Heavy. Weak. Your eyelids flutter open, and you are nowhere you have ever seen. Disgusting, is your first thought. Sticky. Your head is difficult to move, and now you feel pain. Agony the likes of which you have never felt pierces you, like a thousand daggers penetrating your skin simultaneously. A cry escapes you, and you finally look down, and see that you are covered in blood. You are in a body that you do not recognize, and.. Where in Gods Grace are you? You close your mouth with an effort, and will yourself to invoke abilities you haven't had the need or ability to touch in near-forever. The pain begins to lessen, and you start to consider your situation. Your breathing becomes easier.. Breathing? You are extremely confused. Nothing in the last few seconds makes sense. All of that time in your prison, you had never had to eat, breathe. You didn't even have to see or hear if you didn't wish to. What good did it do? The hazy ability to know what horrors the humans were inflicting upon themselves was all that you could see or hear, so why bother? But now, you can't shut any of it off. You can hear sounds outside the building you are in, strange, foreign sounds that you aren't familiar with. And then..

You are overwhelmed by an avalanche of feelings and emotions that are not your own. A literal tide of memories envelops and dwarfs your own, submerging them beneath mundane recollections about.. well, everything! Images flashed through your head, laughing people, gyrating dancers, a cacophony of sounds, a woman doing something... unnatural to your nether regions while you tipped a bottle back and drank deeply. Laughing while your mother pushed you on a swingset, running in fear from your father, who was home, and he was angry.

WHAT THE HELL WAS GOING ON!?!?! You, Tyrius are having trouble remembering even the most fundamental facts about yourself. Everything was being sublimated, subjugated by this "Hank". You felt as though you could remember everything Hank had ever done, but your own memories? Fleeting images, with the feeling of a dream, occasionally flitted past your minds eye. You still have all of your old emotions and beliefs, but actually picturing your actions is supremely difficult. And Hank's emotions always threaten to usurp yours. Without thinking, you bring the half-empty jug of moonshine to your lips and drink deeply from it, your throat burning, remembering only moments later that it wasn't your instinct that you answered. It was Hanks.

The last two weeks have been very disconcerting, to say the least. You have settled into some kind of equilibrium, if it can be called that. For the moment, you have decided not to fight Hanks memories, and have been pursuing his interests and itinerary, if for no other reason than it is something to do. What does all this mean? Did He release you? Are you forgiven? Does it matter? Does He even know, or care, that you have escaped your purgatory? And why THIS man? Sullen, broken, without hope or happiness, the only thing that seemed to bring joy to Hank's life was the music that he used to hide from the world. What is the purpose of this?

One thing that you could say for certain.. It seemed like you were free, for the first time ever. You had a body, and a set of memories not your own, but it obeyed your commands, and.. It didn't have to do what anybody told it.

The rumble of conversation lay under a louder blanket of music, and under the conversation, the gentle tinkling of ice and glasses as the people in the speakeasy danced and laughed. Hank was really outdoing himself on the piano, and a man by the name of Lester Jenkins was truly wailing on the saxophone. Alcohol was flowing freely around the entire club. Sweating bodies hurtled around the room in pairs, smiles and a lust for excitement evident on almost every face. A couple made out in a dark corner, while a pair of men bet on who could drain 12 shotglasses first. A small pile of money sat in the middle of the table, the prize for risking alcohol poisoning. A gorgeous woman reapplied her makeup and patted her hair into place at the bar, and a nattily dressed man with a thin mustache told her a joke and tried to weasel an invitation to sit. Lester winks at you from behind the saxophone. You two really have them going. The owner of the bar is definitely going to be asking you back, because happy people spend money, and happy people tell their friends, who come to spend their money! There is nobody in this entire joint that isn't having a good time.

Well, that couldn't last very long, could it? In the middle of your song, the door bursts open, and the man assigned to keep riffraff out comes sailing through it headfirst to crash into a table, spilling drinks, ashtrays, and a tall, thin woman who couldn't get out of the way quickly enough. The bouncer is followed in by four uniformed police officers blowing their whistles and spreading out, billy-clubs in their hands. Lester notices first, you are too caught up in your song, but once the accompaniment dies abruptly, you look up and your hands freeze. Roight then boys and girls, seems like there's some trouble comin' round. What's this, Krieger, fifty some odd people all breakin' the law, buyin' and drinkin' illegal spirits. Tsk tsk. What are we to do? His Irish accent is thick and bold, and there was a wide, satisfied grin on his face. The man he addressed, Krieger, you assume, was a thin whip of a man with a mean gimlet eye. Oy'm finkin' we's got ta write out about fifty citations, bust up all the glassware and pour out the liquor, and mebbe take the owner t'jail, s'whot I finks. The other two officers laugh, and keep an eye on everyone around them.

Fifty citations? At'll take all night, it will, says the first officer. N' if some o' these blokes got too much innem, we might have to drag em in for resistin', and that means more paperwork. I know! He snaps his fingers as though he had just had an idea. I think that if we wishes real hard, that two-hundred dollars might appear on that there table, and all these people will keep a clean record, and this barman can go home to his wifey and tell her how kind and generous the New York Police are, cuz we didn't drags him off to jail. Y'know, Jonesy, I think you might be right.. I'm up fer tryin' that wishin, what about you boys? The other two officers chuckle and nod, agreeing that it would be a neat trick to see. Krieger saunters over to the raised platform where you and Lester are. Lester looks nervous, and he fingers his saxophone, looking at you, the sweat on his brow now having nothing to do with the heat. And what's this we have e're? You eyein' me, boy? As Lester shakes his head and tries to stammer out a denial, Krieger, quicker than thought, raises his billy club, and jams it into Lester's gut, bringing the man to his knees, gasping. This one's goin' in the tank though, Jonesy. He's given me the eyeball, I think he's up to somethin'.

[pife]

Reserved for important information

Spoiler: Gallery

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Louis Lazy-Lips- Well known in the New York music scene (more in the speakeasies than the legal clubs), Louis is a passable musician himself, but most of his talent is in talking people into booking musicians that come to Louis and pay him to find them some gigs. Friendly and easy-going, he doesn't understand how Hank can always be so miserable, especially with the talent he has.


Lester Jenkins- You don't know Lester very well, other than that he's a family man, who doesn't smoke, drink, or curse. He's amazing with the saxophone or the trombone, but is quiet, soft-spoken and a little bit shy.


Sheila Bergman- Hank's girlfriend comes from a wealthy family that owns a shipbuilding yard. She likes doing anything that annoys her conservative father, and she seems magnetically attracted to the dark charisma of Hank. A real party-girl, she usually has a drink in her hand, and a cigarette in her mouth.


Krieger


Jonesy

[LuckyStrike]

Tyrius is silent during the whole scene and regards the events that unfold before his eyes with curiosity. He focuses his interest on Krieger when the man walks on the stage and studies his body language and voice intonations to get a better idea of what the man is about. (Lore of longing- read emotions)

When Lester gets assaulted he decides to act.

'Well. Crap..' Hank says frustrated, to no one in particular, as he rests his hands on the keys. Intentionally putting power to his words with a mismatch of sound suddenly coming fr the piano. 'Guess I'm not getting paid then eh?' He stands up from his piano to better be seen. 'Was I playing so rotten that you heard it all the way down at the precinct and felt like you had to stop it?' He says to Krieger, and before he can get a response he asks the crowd: 'Was it really that bad?'
He turns his attention back to Krieger, who by then hopefully thinks he has a thick-sculled musician on his hands and backs his next words up with well chosen body language and attitude.
(lore of longing-empathic response)

'If you felt like you had to shut this shin-dig here down on my account I truly and utterly apologize, sir. Allow me to prove to you that I can in fact play a decent tune for you while the people here scrape together a thankful donation for your public services.'

He looks at Krieger with an apologetic and hopeful look, confident he played to the mans power trip enough to be allowed to play a song.

[pife]

Spoiler: Details

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Okay, so read emotion gives you 1 extra die per success (2 in this case) to any further social rolls you make with Krieger in this scene. (Your attempt to use Empathetic Response) So, I'm going to roll two more dice for you, and then will edit in my response.

(2d10)[1][7](8)

Your mouth is running, and you immediately have the attention of all of the cops, and most of the crowd as well. Lester looks up at you, teeth gritted in pain, but eyes wide in shock at what you're doing. You pay particular attention to Krieger, and are able to note several things about him. The hairs on his neck are standing up, and you can see that his heartrate and respiration are elevated. There is a joyful kind of look on his face. This man enjoys exercising power over people using the power of his badge and authority. He seems.. excited.

Your apology seems to take him a bit by surprise, but as you finish, he puffs up, and his grin widens. He nods, as if accepting no more than his due. I weren't zactly listenin' to ya, musician, but sure.. I like the idea of you tinklin' the ivories while these folks pony up. And if ye make it sweet enough, I won't smack this wee guttersnipe again just for the hell of it. Tweren't you we was here for though, Piano Man. Yer gonna walk outta here free as a bird. And if ye make an impression on me an' the boys, we'll walk outta here with their donation, and forget that we saw ye. Play on!

[LuckyStrike]

Hank bows his head in gratitude and jogs over to Krieger giving him his best dopey smile as he takes his hand in thanks. While he shakes Kriegers hand thankfully with his right (manipulate senses*), his left motions to the best table in the joint. The people sitting there he addresses loudly. 'Good people, please move.. Let New-Yorks finest enjoy a minute of the performance of a lifetime from the bests seats in the house.'
He turns back to Krieger confident he will be open to his suggestions for a while longer. 'Please, I beg you. You must sit there and take enjoy the ambiance. While your here anyways it would seem a shame not to, am I right?'
He ushers Krieger towards the table and off the stage and turns around to clumsily jog back to his piano, quickly helping up Jonesy as he passes him. He pats Jonesy on the shoulder and hurries back to his stool to take place behind the instrument.

He looks over the crowd to see if Krieger and his men have taken the bait and calls out to Phillip behind the bar. [COLOR="#FF8C00"]Phillip! Pour these men a decent drink! Let's be honest, music and booze go together like cops and robbers.[/COLORS] He winks at Krieger with a cheeky smile.
Before anyone can object he hits the keys hard filling the room with something the other patrons didn't come to listen to. A classical piece from a famous German composer.


*He slowly enhances Kriegers senses. Colors seem more vivid and he can truly taste the drink that Phillip has poured him. Like a explosion of flavors easing into his brain. Every detail down to the Scottish oak casket with a hint of cherry. When he breathes in after taking a sip he can feel the air nurturing his body and when he exhales it sounds blissful and has a soothing a calming effect. That moment of exhale done, his brain registers the music, the nostalgic melody floods into him and tickles his spine.


Ooc:

Spoiler

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Well, that's the plan anyway ;) hoping to get the ringleader intoxicated by the music and get them balls-drunk to a point where everyone can resume enjoying the night. Or at least, you know.. In Jonesies case.. get out of dodge.

Rolls:

Spoiler

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Int+intuition for manipulate senses. (if I can burn a willpower to boost this one I do.) :
(3d10)[7][2][9](18)

Cha?+performance:
(8d10)[3][3][4][3][10][10][4][7](44)